


Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality

by Salf



Category: The 100 (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 06:55:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3927121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salf/pseuds/Salf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy Blake is immortal. Clarke Griffin is not. The first time Bellamy sees Clarke her name is something long, Celtic and difficult to pronounce. </p><p>Or, Clarke keeps appearing throughout time, and Bellamy has very inconveniently fallen in love with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this has not been fully edited yet (I'll probably end up changing it) but the idea has been in my head for a very long time and I felt it was time to let it out! Please don't be too harsh and enjoy!

The first time Bellamy sees Clarke her name is something long, Celtic and difficult to pronounce, so he shortens it to Cara. They meet around a fire pit when she is seven and he is, as he always is, twenty five. Her hair is long and wavy, braided into complicated plaits that twist into a crown on top of her head. The firelight bounces off the smoothed sections, and her rough woollen dress hangs loose around her, pulled in tight by a plait of leather around her waist. She frowns as she plays with a small knife in her palm and he cannot resist teasing seating himself next to her and offering her the bowl of lentils he is resting in his hands. She looks up at him and he tells her tales of times long gone, of Gods that sent their blessed ones down to earth to be safe and he hopes that she remembers. He hopes that she is one of them, because when he looked at her for the first time it was like a glimpse of a home long since left behind him. She does not. He stays as long as he can without suspicion, watches over her until she reaches the age of eleven. Over the four years he teaches her all that he can, he makes her laugh till she cries, befriends the kind parents who named her after a Goddess and gains their trust. They leave her with him while they hunt and he names her younger brother Nathaniel after a friend he has yet to find again. The wind is harsh on the day he says goodbye for the last time, leaving empty promises of soon returning and a gentle kiss on the forehead of an adoring child. He hears, many years later of the death of a young princess, leader of a mountain clan, saving the life of their greatest warrior Nathaniel. A tear slides down his cheek as he remembers an eight year old that had scarred her own forearm so that he would not feel alone in having a five point star etched into his skin.

 Bellamy is no fool. He has seen empires fall, and cities burn. He travels from one civilisation to another, wondering at the world that is rising around him. He first awoke among men living in huts, and now he wanders an empire forged by white columns that tower in the midmorning heat. Rome is beautiful underneath the dust and dirt, and he feels at home. Rome was his favourite time, their culture was the closest he had ever known to the truth, where legend of gods upon the mountains were spoken of with reverence, where he felt closest to his mother - Goddess of the Dawn. He watched the sun rise over the bustle of the city and dreamt of an ever young woman, racing her chariot across the broadening horizon. 

 It’s in a market place one morning where he hears news of the sister of Emperor August, a man who lays flowers at her feat, and scatters her hair with diamonds that shimmer under the torches of the colosseum. Bellamy smirks and makes his way to the palace, draping himself over the steps of the entrance. Perhaps it is boldness that persuades the guards not imprison him, but perhaps it is simply his self assurance that earns him a visit with the princess of Rome. Strolling into the grand hall, the drop of his hood causes a loud scream from the end of the long room, and the guards seem bemused by the sprinting Octavia who leaps into his arms and immediately chastises him for taking so long to find her. 

 It’s in the palace that he reunites with Lincoln who is looking a little too cosy with O for his liking, and where he sees Clarke for the second time. She is sixteen this time, and rolls his eyes as he attempts a clapping game she had loved so long ago. He does not admit how crushed he is that she does not remember him, but cannot deny the joy of seeing again a girl who is not like him, but has managed to survive the ages. O claps her own hands together in delight when she walks in on ‘Cassia’ and Bellamy chatting in the evening sun. He nicknames her Cass and congratulates himself on not slipping up and calling her Cara as he glimpses habits from over 300 years ago. Her nose scrunches up the first time he makes her laugh and he feels the closest he ever has to someone. 

 It is a Sunday and she is eighteen when he tells her the truth. Bellamy knows she is perceptive, open minded and curious and the stories he has weaved in and out of their constant conversations can have done nothing to disprove the idea. Although he has hope that she will believe what he is about to tell her, his heart still skips a beat when she places her cool hand in his and tells him she trusts him. Her eyes are wide in rapture as he talks of home, of the family and friends he lost when they were scattered across the globe, and of the residual magic that still runs through his veins. She comforts him and he reminisces over friends, mortals, long dead, buried by time. The sun has set by the time he is done, and she rests her head on his shoulder, loose curls released from a braid, brushing his cheek.

 “So we have met twice?”

 Grinning he turns resting his lips on her forehead, breath hot against her skin, voice gravelly with use. 

 “Yes. Three hundred years apart.”

 She leans into his touch and he contemplates how she changes when in his presence alone. Less reserved, humorous and happy. He is scared to think how he changes as well. Octavia has told him so, even Lincoln has hinted at a supposed great love, and the palace is rife with gossip about the golden princess and the princes mutual adoration. They sing quiet murmors of love, and Bellamy knows that many a marriageable man has ignored his feelings for Cass on the supposed understanding between them. Bellamy does not know if Cass knows of the rumours, it seems unlikely she does not as she is nothing but not observant, but he appreciates her silence on the topic. 

 “Yet I am not immortal. I die and return without any memory of the past. What does that make me?”

 Bellamy does not know. He has consulted with O and Lincoln, read all that he could find, but he cannot determine why she is back. She is a Goddess indeed but not in the literal sense of the word or she would be like him and his sister. Wandering the world, cursed with living but not truly settling. Only it seems Octavia has settled with Lincoln, and although she loves him, he knows that they are a pair, it would be unfair to burden them with him. Bellamy knows he has taken for granted the home he has found for the first time here, and the thought that he could take Cara, Cass, with him catches him off guard. Yet he knows not when she will return again, if she even will. Two lives are twice what most are blessed with, and it would be unfair to run away with someone who would age as he stayed young. To never be able to stay in the same place for too long. She would not be happy. He breathes in her scent, sighing as he closes his eyes. Bellamy doesn’t want to love her.

 “I do not know. In all my years, you are nothing I have ever been blessed to see before.”

 She looks up at him then, smiling gently. Speaking softly.

 “It seems then, it must have been fate.”

 He does not want to love her, but it is so clear in her face that she is completely in love with him. He wishes he could let her down gently, find her a man who could love her as fully as she deserves, but he cannot. The only thing clearer to him than her love, is the way he feels about her. He would pull down the stars to look after her, sacrifice his immortality to spend thirty more years in her company. He cannot. That night, after she has gone to bed, he twists a silver ring for her, placing it under her pillow with a letter explaining his absence. He loves her, but it cannot be. He writes of deceit, spins a cruel tale of betrayal, tells her that everything he ever told her was a lie. She is foolish, naive, a child. When he returns a year later, with apologies on his tongue, she looks at him with steel eyes. She is marble, married to a fool of a man knows not what he has. Hatred rolls off her in waves. Octavia says she cannot blame her. He leaves again, returning disguised ten years later to attend the funeral of a Queen struck down by disease. He recognises old servants who whisper still of her lost love, the man who broke her heart and forged a leader made of fire. She is paler than ever, not yet thirty. Her husband weeps dramatically, while simultaneously draping himself over a barely dressed slave girl. The sun winks off a twisted band of silver on her right hand, and Bellamy thinks of what could have been.

 He meets her again, but only briefly, bumping into her, down a busy Tudor street. Cass is thin, bedraggled but poised. She is all smiles, charming, friendly and helpful. He thinks that perhaps he has not lost his chance, grins after her as she runs down the street and around the corner. Raven laughs when she watches his lovestruck smile, and points out to him that she just stole all his money. He cannot quite bring himself to be angry about it. Later, a vendor gossips with her husband about a blonde haired orphan who mothers a group of street children, named Catherine, or Cat. It suits her.

 By the Victorian era, he has all but given up on his hope he will see her again. Three reincarnations are surely all that he could hope for, but when an old friend of his, an immortal named Lexa, gushes about a brilliant artist she knows, sharp, talented and blonde named Claudie, it seems too much of a coincidence to not be. Bellamy knows not to raise his hopes too much, there have been various mishaps with very blonde, very not Cass, girls over the centuries, but when he sees her smiling across the table at him, strapped into a tight corset and sketching his face into her sketchbook he knows its her. He wonders if she can see the adoration in his eyes, wonders if she could ever feel the same, or if she is infinitely different to the Cass he loved almost a thousand years ago. Claudie’s hand intertwines itself with Lexa’s, and he excuses himself, crossing an ocean to get away from what he could have had damned be the consequences.

 Bellamy is in an art museum when he sees her next. It’s 2015, she’s not due for at least another 100 years, but there she is, staring intently at a photography exhibit. It has been a long time since Bellamy has been nervous, but she’s in blue scrubs, and she looks so involved, that he follows her as she purchases a replica victorian drawing from the MoMA gift shop, and wanders down to sit next to the Hudson. She turns around as he approaches her and taps the grass beside her. Hesitantly, he sits down, and she unrolls her recent purchase, revealing Bellamy’s own face.

 “This is one of the most famous drawings of all time. The artist was a Victorian woman, Claudie, who claimed that she had recurring dreams of different ages, different times. The man was almost always there. She called him B, not knowing his real name, and the story goes that one night, while out with her girlfriend Lexa - she was a bit of a revolutionary in Victorian London - he sat down across the table at her and stared as if he had known her for years.”

 Cass pauses. Twisting a familiar ring on her right hand. 

 “Only, the thing is, I recognise you too. I don’t think it’s because of the drawing either, but I can’t know you any other way.”

 Bellamy sat stiffly.

 “Your ring. It looks like it has a history.”

 The girl smiled, explained how it had just always been there. Her parents had not gifted it, they were just as clueless as she was as to its presence.

 Bellamy was stumped and remained so until Cass stood up too fast, blinked a few times and passed out into the river. 

 Ten minutes later, Cass is lying lifelessly on the ground, hair plastered to her face, fingers cold. He knows she’s gone, but he can’t help but try to resuscitate her, to right the wrongs he had caused so many years ago. In the end he doesn’t know what triggers it. It could be the panic, the love, the pain or even just the desperation, but the magic that has lain dormant for so long flows through him and into Cass, and she sits up coughing water, throat sore.

 Her eyes catch his, she mouths one word.

 “Bellamy?”

 Before flinging herself into his arms, muttering thank you’s and I missed you’s and Bellamy’s into his hair and his forehead. Bellamy kisses her forehead, her nose, her cheeks and finally her lips and she smiles into the kiss, drenched clothing soaking the two of them.

 Bellamy wraps her up in his jacket and she practically glows, beaming as Cass, as _she_ ** _,_** did all those years ago. She explains everything, her past, her present, and finally grins at she tells Bellamy what she is.

 “My mother, she was a Goddess. Her name was Abby, but the humans named her Bona Dea - the “Good Goddess”. She was the Goddess of health, and controlled much of the East of our homeland - but she fell in love with a human when she was blessing Earth. His name was Jake, he was my father. The other Gods were furious, my mother let him die in order to protect me, and when the other children were sent down to Earth, to carry out their duty among humans until every child found their forever partner, I was cursed.”

 Cass smiled wistfully as Bellamy clutched her hand.

 “They stole my immortality from me. Aurora, your mother, did what she could, reduced my sentence to reincarnation without memory, but I was never to go home until I found my ‘soul mate’ as it were. A seemingly impossible task considering no immortal wants to love a mortal.”

 Bellamy kissed her cheek.

 “You must know by now, that I love you Cass. Even if I’ve been a complete dick for the last two thousand years.”

 She grinned as she lifted up his face, breathing in the scent of their home. Bellamy’s eyes lit up.

 “Trust me, I know. Please, call me Clarke”.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So that's it! Any constructive criticism would be greatly welcomed (lets be honest its needed). Have fab day. (Oh and also, if anyones interested in it, I might be willing to write out Bellamy and Clarke's - Cass's - roman love story in full, because I am in love with that period to be honest)


End file.
